Back at the Garrison
by Coyachayqui
Summary: It's been a year since d'Artagnan, Athos, Portos and Aramis went their separate ways. As the two musketeers who stayed in Paris slowly settled into their new roles, their other brothers had to struggle against unexpected, mysterious enemies. Can the Inseparables really stay apart for long? Will the tragedy bring them back together?
1. Returning in Grief

D'Artagnan put his elbows on the desk, rubbing his eyes tiredly. The recently restored garrison was all but asleep. He heard nothing but the sound of pounding rain and his brain screaming at him to go rest. Finally, he finished the paperwork which he would tomorrow deliver to Aramis. It had been a little over a year since he became captain, with his friend taking the position of the First Minister. Strange as their new work arrangements were, at least they stayed close, seeing each other daily. Admittedly, giving each other updates and reports or coming up with improved strategies was somewhat less engaging than their past adventures. Still, he couldn't be more grateful that he had at least one of his brothers close by. He wondered how Porthos was doing on the battlefront, without any of them to share war sorrows with. And his heart ached each time he thought about Athos, his mentor and best friend, who he hadn't heard from for the last four months. Not only did he miss him terribly. There was also this feeling he couldn't shake off, an inexplicable knot in his stomach that made him suspect that the older man didn't find the peace and quiet he wandered off to.

D'Artagnan sighed loudly, running his hand through his dark hair. Perhaps he was just going a little paranoid, after everything they had been through? In any case, there was nothing he could do. He arranged the papers on the table and got up, ready to call it a day. Just when his fingers touched the doorknob, he heard a horse outside. _Why would someone come here in the middle of a rainy night?_ he wondered, hoping that he wasn't about to find out that one of his men got hurt on a mission.

Without thinking twice, he grabbed a candle and rushed outside to meet the arriver. As soon as he was at the top of the stairs, he froze. He would recognize the man anywhere, even if his posture didn't look nearly as composed as usual, and his face was almost invisible beneath his cloak's hood.

D'Artagnan came back to his senses when he saw the person clumsily sliding down his horse side, after which he swayed and fell to his knees. In a matter of seconds, the captain was crouching in front of the newcomer, worry plastered all over his face.

"Athos…" d'Artagnan whispered, putting his hands on his friend's cheeks and looking into his eyes, the back of his mind registering the heat under his palms.

He wanted to ask where he was hurt, if he needed to go to the infirmary, whether there was a need to call for a doctor or if he should just send for Aramis. But the words got stuck in his throat. D'Artagnan had seen his mentor in different states of mind, with varying degrees of sadness, grief, guilt, desperation. When his house got burned. When he found out his wife was back in Paris. When Sylvie got kidnapped. Never before had Athos looked so utterly broken and lost, eyes almost devoid of his trademark pride and strength, instead seemingly pleading for someone or something to save him from the anguish that was tearing him apart.

The younger man felt the lump in his throat grow. He used one of his hands to brush wet locks out of his friend's face, which gave him a better look at his swollen eye and an unpleasant cut near the hairline. Still not finding the right words, d'Artagnan tried to put all of the love and unconditional support for his brother into his gaze.

Upon seeing his warm, kind brown eyes, Athos cracked even further. Out of the four of them, he was the most reserved one, seldom asking for any kind of help, much less seeking consolation. But he hadn't been himself for months. For months, he had been entirely alone with a burden that he was unable to carry, consumed by despair while having to always watch his back and fighting the strong urge to just give in, to at least find peace in death if it was impossible in life.

And so, he did something that would dumbfound d'Artagnan, if only he were less terrified for his mentor. He fell forward onto the younger man, almost making him lose balance and clinging onto him with his last bits of strength. The Gascon's jacket stifled the sob that wrecked Athos's body.

Even though d'Artagnan was aware that given his friend's condition, they should get inside as quick as possible, he knew better than to ignore a rare plea for help. Not minding the rain and mud, he sank to his knees and put one arm around his friend's back, steadying him, and another on the back of his head.

"It's alright, I've got you, brother. I'm here, I've got you," the captain soothed into his mentor's ear, finally finding his voice. He felt Athos trembling harder under his hold and squeezed him tighter.

* * *

Athos didn't know how long they stayed in the embrace. A while after he calmed down, feeling drained and dizzy, d'Artagnan pulled away and slowly led the older man to sit on the stairs.

"Wait here for a few minutes, okay? I will take care of your horse, and we will go to my rooms," the captain said in a gentle voice, gripping his friend's shoulders.

"But Constance… I don't-" Athos protested weakly.

"Hush. You are family," d'Artagnan cut in, taking off his jacket, which was much drier than anything his friend wore, and throwing it over the latter's back. He was reluctant to leave, even for a moment, but there was no other choice.

Athos felt as if he was sitting on the stairs for a very long time. Seeing d'Artagnan was the first spark of hope since his world crumbled. He managed to briefly shake off some of the pain and tiredness. Now, it was coming back and, leaning heavily against the handrail, he was tempted to let his eyelids close.

"Athos! Stay with me for a little longer. You will rest soon," d'Artagnan was at his side again, pulling him up.

With the Gascon supporting most of his mentor's weight, murmuring words of encouragement whenever the latter seemed to forget about putting one foot in front of another, they eventually made it to their destination, d'Artagnan's guest room. After sitting his drenched, injured friend on a chair, the younger man, once again, kneeled in front of him.

"Athos, I need you to tell me how badly you are hurt. Should I send for a doctor or just Aramis?"

"Aramis… but tomorrow. It's not bad. No need to wake him," the older man replied.

D'Artagnan wanted to protest, but he saw his friend fidgeting with his soaked cloak and realized that it was probably hard enough for Athos to be that vulnerable in front of one person. He decided to assess the injuries and only send for someone if they were beyond the skills he learned from the marksman.

"Fine. I will wake Constance and tell her to bring anything we might need. Don't fall asleep yet, please," he said softly.

Before leaving, he helped Athos out of his cloak and enveloped him in a blanket, putting a cup of water in his hands.

* * *

When d'Artagnan came back, he found his friend with his head in his hands, shivering from cold and exhaustion. The cup must have slipped from his hands, as it was lying at his feet.

"I'm sorry, d'Artagnan, for barging in like that… I shouldn't have…" the older man muttered into the floor.

"Have you even heard what I've said before? We are brothers, you should never apologize for that. In fact, I'm glad you came, I would never want you to be alone when you are hurt. And neither would Aramis," the captain sighed.

Without another word, d'Artagnan approached Athos again, took off his shoes, and started undressing him. The process was by no means pleasant, as blood, sweat, pus, and dirt made the fabrics stick to the wounds in many places, especially those where the clothes were less wet. The older man seemed relatively indifferent to the pain, leaving it to his former protege to wince in sympathy and wonder what his friend went through to make him barely notice when someone was tearing out his flesh.

Just after the Gascon finished and guided Athos to the bed, there was a soft knock, and the door opened slightly.

"Hey, I don't want to disturb you, so I'm leaving everything here," Constance said quietly, slipping in a tray with things her husband asked for and putting it on the table next to the door. "Feel better, Athos."

"Thank you, Constance," both men answered in unison, though the guest's voice was hoarse and barely audible.

When the door closed again, d'Artagnan picked up a bowl of water and a cloth and began carefully washing Athos's battered body. He was pleasantly surprised to find out that while the number of bruises and wounds made him cringe, especially with many of them not exactly clean, they were superficial enough not to pose any real danger. Outside of cruelly bruised ribs and a stab wound in the thigh, which possibly damaged the muscle, he spotted no severe injuries. Thankfully, the latter seemed older and, being properly stitched, appeared to be healing astonishingly well, given the patient's overall condition and evident lack of proper rest.

D'Artagnan concluded that the fever and the sickly shade of Athos's skin, as well as large bags under his eyes, were results of exhaustion, malnutrition and being exposed to cold and rain, more than of any specific injury. Still, he wasn't sure if it was good or bad. His friend seemed to be in no mental state to fight the sickness, whatever the cause. The younger man grimly noted that Athos lost so much weight, he was barely heavier than him anymore.

"I have to clean some of those," d'Artagnan warned, taking a bottle of brandy that Constance brought. "We have a pain draught, though it's not very strong. Do you want it?"

Athos shook his head, not opening his eyes.

Save the occasional gasps, he remained almost unmoved through the following two hours, during which d'Artagnan was cleaning his wounds, poking at his bones, bandaging his ribs, changing his position and doing several other potentially painful things. That, understandably, made the Gascon even more worried.

"I don't remember you as such a good patient," he remarked sadly, as he wiped the sweat off his friend's face and pulled the blankets up to his torso. "Do you think you will be able to drink a bit of broth? Your body needs it."

Athos, feeling anything but hungry, was about to refuse. But it didn't make any difference to him. His friends, however long he hadn't seen them, were the only good thing left in his life. D'Artagnan just gave him a tiny ray of hope, he didn't need to upset him any further. So, hesitantly, he nodded.

The younger man beamed at him, raising his friend's head and bringing the cup with broth to his lips. Athos shot him an annoyed "I could do it myself" look, which made the captain smirk. "That's more like you."

A few minutes later, d'Artagnan readjusted the pillows and blankets and moved the chair closer to the bed. After sitting down, he wetted a fresh cloth and lightly pressed it to his friend's forehead. "Try to sleep now, Athos."

"Could you bring me something from my bag? A ring on a chainlet, it's in the pocket," the older man whispered, quickly turning his eyes away after.

"Of course."

When d'Artagnan was rummaging through the bag, Athos spoke again, his voice strained. He was grateful that his friend didn't ask any questions, but somehow, it made him feel that he wanted to tell him everything.

"Thank you, d'Artagnan. I haven't been around anyone… who gave the slightest damn since the day Sylvie died."

The Gascon grabbed the ring and was near the bed in a heartbeat, his eyes welling up with tears of grief and compassion. He perched on the edge, took Athos's hand and wrapped his mentor's calloused fingers around the ring. Then, he held it in his own two hands. Of course, he realized that his friend's state had something to do with Sylvie. But he prayed it was something… less definite.

"You know," Athos murmured in a barely audible voice, "when dreaming about the day our child will be born, one of the things I always thought about was writing to you and telling you everything, even inviting you to visit…"

D'Artagnan made an attempt to smile, but it didn't work. Absentmindedly, he started to rub circles on the older man's hand with his thumb.

"… But I couldn't bring myself to write to you about… about what happened. It was nearly time, we were… so happy. And one day, just like that, she was gone… n-not gone, killed. T-they were killed. B-because of me. And I… I had to… I w-went… T-hey made me…" Athos remained calm until the last part, during which he broke down. As a few tears escaped his eyes, his face grew even paler, and he started gasping for breath.

"Shhh, Athos, breathe," d'Artagnan soothed, laying one hand on the older man's chest. "Just breathe. You will tell me later. Now, rest."

It took a while for Athos to calm down, but eventually, he let his eyelids close. His friend hoped that tiredness would catch up with him quickly. However, it seemed like the emotions he stirred were too strong. From time to time, his eyes fluttered open, and he looked around anxiously. He also kept tossing despite his aching body.

D'Artagnan resumed his place on the chair, swallowing the tears of his own. How was it fair that his best friend, the person who did so much for him, saved so many lives, had to endure so much suffering? The younger man wetted the cloth again and carefully put it back on his mentor's forehead. Then, he moved his hand a little further up, calmingly stroking his former captain's hair.

"I'm so sorry, Athos. About what happened and that you were on your own for so long. But you aren't anymore. Please, sleep. I will stay with you," the Gascon assured quietly.

Athos opened his mouth to say that d'Artagnan could go to his room as he would be fine. But he knew that, for once, he wouldn't. Not after spending so many nights trying to stay alert at all times, not after being kidnapped with nobody looking for him, and a big part of him wishing for death to come. And more than anything, not while being haunted by the faces of his lost loved ones, every night for the last four months. So, he closed his mouth and instead opened his eyes one last time, trying to express how grateful he was. Then, he finally allowed the brotherly touch and comforting words to lull him to sleep.

* * *

A few hours later, the sky already turned grey, allowing some light to sip into the room. D'Artagnan walked to the window and pulled the curtains, worried that Athos's sleep would be disturbed. As tired as he felt back in the office, he forgot all about it the minute he saw his friend in need. While watching over him, he couldn't stop thinking about how himself and Aramis were enjoying a relatively easy life in Paris, eating dinners with the queen and teaching youngsters, when one of their brothers was on the battlefront, and another lost almost everything. The idea to split up seemed sensible at the time, but he wasn't so sure anymore. He also wondered who would want to hurt Athos so mercilessly, assuming it really was about him.

Soon, he found out that the daylight wasn't needed to interrupt his mentor's rest. The latter started trashing, hands tightly gripping the blanket. He was sweating even more profusely than before.

"Sylvie! No! Please! Anne!" his anguished screams made Constance shot up in bed and broke d'Artagnan's heart, even if he was also confused as to why his friend was having nightmares about Milady de Winter.

"Athos! Athos! Wake up!" the younger man repeated several times, shaking his mentor by the shoulders.

Initially, there was no reaction, but eventually, he was met with a pair of green eyes, clouded by confusion and pain.

"Hey. You are safe, at the garrison. You came earlier in the night, remember?" d'Artagnan explained with a concerned smile, still grasping his friend's shoulders.

Athos nodded and turned his head away. Suddenly, his body convulsed, and his face turned slightly greenish. He put a hand on his stomach. D'Artagnan didn't need more signals. He helped his friend sit up, supporting him from the side and put an empty bowl in his lap. As his mentor purged, tremors running through his body, the younger man kept him in a steady but gentle grip, his other hand holding a cool rug to the back of his patient's neck.

When Athos was finished, d'Artagnan temporarily put the bowl on the chair, letting the former captain sag against his chest. It was worrisome that the nightmares could have such a strong physical impact, as they could disrupt the healing process. D'Artagnan pushed the thought aside and used the cloth to wipe his friend's face. After he put it away, he felt Athos grabbing his hand.

"I'm here, brother. What is it?" the Gascon asked softly.

"I'd like… I need to tell you now, at least some of it," Athos declared in a tired, slightly hazed voice.

"I'm listening, then," d'Artagnan replied, readjusting his hold on his mentor and squeezing his hand reassuringly. He didn't think it was a good idea, but he realized that the decision shouldn't be his to make.

Athos took in a shaky breath. "One evening, I… I went to the tavern with a few villagers. I didn't even want to, I preferred to spend my time with Sylvie. But it was the fifth time they asked, and I didn't want to offend them," the older musketeer paused to gather his strength.

"I… I don't think it was one of t-them. But… s-someone drugged me," Athos buried his face deeper in d'Artagnan's chest, forcing the younger man to drop his head so he could hear. "The next thing I remember… I-I was back in our h-house, chained to the pillar. And they tortured her, beat her… until sh-she died," a soft whimper escaped Athos's lips as he took another minute to compose himself, while terrified d'Artagnan started moving his hand up and down his friend's bruised back, cautious not to hurt him.

"I-I saw every s-second of it. I wanted to close my eyes, so, so badly. But it would be l-like leaving her all alone. And I k-kicked and pulled, and t-tried everything. Really, d'Artagnan, I t-tried. B-but I couldn't g-get free," Athos took a longer break, his breathing irregular, shame and sadness burning under his eyelids and making his lips dry.

The younger man felt tears streaming down his face. How could anyone be so vicious? Why would anyone hate Athos, a good, honorable man, so much? He held his friend tighter, though still tenderly enough not to cause him pain.

"Of course. I know you did everything. And I'm sure she knew it, too," d'Artagnan whispered and kissed the top of his friend's head.

"Thank you, but that's not all," Athos argued, his voice steadier. "After they were done, they knocked me out…. And freed me. I don't remember if I mentioned it in my letters, probably not, but Anne moved to our village not long after us, mostly to bug me.

"She did seem to get the message after a few months. Still, my first thought was that she was to blame. I went to her house, we argued. I don't even know why, I could see in her eyes that she had nothing to do with it," Athos admitted.

Unknowingly to him, d'Artagnan frowned. If Milady wasn't responsible, there was only one reason to scream her name. The Gascon felt the chill going down his spine.

"Then, she actually tried to comfort me… But it felt wrong coming from her. Or maybe I wasn't ready to be comforted. I pushed her away, she got up. Next I know…" Athos gulped loudly, „She fell to the floor, dead. An arrow went through the window, straight to her heart. With a letter attached."

There was a rather long silence, through which d'Artagnan waited patiently, rubbing his friend's arms and back, and silently mourning Athos's loss.

"It was for me. It said that losing everyone I love and everything I care about is what I deserve and that they are not finished with me yet. You know, I was over Anne, but as insufferable as she was, I did care about her.

"To this day, I don't have the slightest idea who is behind this. The only thing I can be certain of is that the only two women I ever loved are dead because of me. And… my child, b-before he or she c-could even see the w-world," the older man stuttered again at the end.

"I wanted to die, I was sure it was what I deserved. I was following a false lead when they caught me. How I wished they would kill me, but they only humiliated me. I thought I should just finish it myself… But then I remembered you, Aramis, and Porthos. I know we parted ways, but you are still my family, I couldn't… couldn't abandon you like that. I did not want to involve you either, I am sorry, but-" his rant made him run out of breath, which was now coming in irregular gasps.

Not releasing his mentor from his embrace, d'Artagnan lowered his head even further, so his mouth was almost next to his friend's ear. "Thank heavens you came, Athos. None of this is your fault, and I will make sure to repeat it until you believe me. It makes me sick that someone made you, a good man, my dearest friend and my brother, go through that."

Athos looked up to meet d'Artagnan's eyes. He attempted to thank him but coughed instead. With a worried sigh, the younger man put a hand to his mentor's forehead.

„You wore yourself out, your fever is up. Try to get some more sleep, I will be here if the nightmares come back," d'Artagnan assured, seeing Athos's reluctance at the mention of rest. "You are home now, we will take care of you. Like you always took care of us."

At his friend's gentle words, Athos obeyed and closed his eyes. Instead of lowering him back onto the pillows, d'Artagnan pulled one of the blankets up to the older man's neck and started carefully rocking him back and forth. It was almost unfathomable that with all those people who cared about Athos, he wasn't consoled even once after Sylvie and Anne died. Four months without a kind word or gesture to soothe his grief and pain. No wonder that for the first time since they met, his mentor actually sought those. And d'Artagnan, battling the images of Sylvie and Anne dying, as well as those of distraught Athos wandering around France, vowed to himself to give the older man all the comfort he could. And so, he rocked his friend to sleep, murmuring consoling nonsense into his ear.

* * *

Several hours passed. The rain was pounding outside again, its sound lulling d'Artagnan to light slumber. Sometime before, Constance quietly brought him breakfast. Before leaving, she perched on the bed and gave Athos a quick kiss on the forehead, ignoring the squeeze she felt in her chest upon remembering his screams from last night.

She wanted to ask her husband if he thought Athos would ever be alright, after losing his family so abruptly, when he thought that he was getting them to safety. But she bit her tongue. There would be time for questions later. Instead, Constance gave her husband a warm hug, knowing that if one of The Inseparables got hurt, others were hurting too. Even if they got separated for a bit. Then, she told him to find her if any of them needed anything and glanced one last time at the two friends. At the moment, Athos's head was laying on d'Artagnan's lap, a cloth pressed to his pale, bruised face. She sighed and left the room to attend to her daily tasks.

* * *

Eventually, the Gascon was brutally awakened from his nap by none other than Aramis charging into his rooms.

"d'Artagnan! I would gladly overlook a rare incident of you ignoring your duties and let you two lovebirds have a nice morning together. However, I have news that can't wait!"

There was a sound of someone getting smacked with a dishtowel, followed by Constance's hushed murmur. Seconds later, Aramis run into the room, instantly falling to his knees next to the bed. He noticed a pair of sleepy green eyes staring at him.

"Welcome home, Athos. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," the First Minister said softly, grabbing his friend's hand and bringing it to his lips.

"Don't worry about it. I'm glad to see you, Aramis," the older man replied hoarsely, trying to raise himself to give his friend a hug. Aramis quickly gathered him in his arms, subconsciously taking account of his injuries.

"What's the big news, then?" Athos croaked tiredly, as the medic wordlessly moved to examine the injured man.

"Oh, yes! Porthos is coming home, too," Aramis beamed. Seeing his former captain's worried expression, he added, "Relax, he isn't hurt. He discovered several traitors within their ranks and requested an investigation and trials."

"When?" d'Artagnan asked cheerfully. Traitors were not a great cause to celebrate, but he couldn't help feeling exhilarated by the news of another brother coming home.

"In two weeks."

After Aramis finished his examination, concluding that their youngest brother indeed picked some skills from him and did a solid job with assessing and treating the injuries, they got some more broth and water into their patient, and helped him use the chamber pot. Soon, it turned out that Athos needed more sleep, as his eyes became unfocused, he started slurring and overall, sounding and looking more and more confused.

"Rest, _mon ami_. We won't leave your side," Aramis smiled at him as he tucked him in.

Athos returned the smile, his head next to d'Artagnan's thigh, touching it slightly. "You dn't ve to, I know you ve things t-to do," he mumbled, even though he really wanted them to stay.

The Gascon chuckled, running his fingers through his friend's greasy locks again. "Do not insult us, Athos. We know our priorities."

* * *

"What happened, d'Artagnan? And why on earth didn't you send for me?" Aramis inquired quietly, as soon as he knew Athos was asleep. For some reason, he chose to stay on the floor, holding onto his injured friend's wrist, his fancy clothing sweeping his younger brother's floor.

"I'm sorry, Aramis, I wanted to. He asked me to wait until today. The state he was in yesterday, I think he wanted as few people to see him as possible. I heard his horse thanks to staying late to finish your report, so I pretty much stumbled upon him," d'Artagnan explained in a hushed voice.

"Right, of course, I understand. You took good care of him," the minister admitted, his lips curving into a reassuring smile.

He realized that what his friend said was part truth, part courtesy. Each member of their little group was likely to hide his pain, whether physical or emotional, until it grew so unbearable that it could only explode dangerously. After all, they were soldiers. So, he didn't need convincing to believe that Athos didn't want to share his dark hour with more people than necessary, and even one witness was hard to swallow.

However, Aramis also knew that it wasn't accurate that d'Artagnan just happened to appear on his way. The reason why Athos came to the garrison, not the palace, was more than a sheer force of habit. He must have been seeking their youngest brother, as Porthos would surely come banging on Aramis' door, no matter how hard it would be to get through the guards in the palace. They would all give their lives for each other, each trusting any of the four as much as they trusted themselves, or more. They were all connected by inexplicable bond, which seemed to go deeper than blood, deeper than battles fought together or shared griefs and joys; stronger than anything that could be put into words.

Yet still, the connection between Athos and d'Artagnan, like the one between Aramis and Porthos, went one step further. And that was alright. In fact, it all worked out perfectly, as long as they all stuck together. Soon, they were to reunite, and the minister prayed that between the four of them, they would be able to solve whatever was going on.

"You do realize you only answered one of my questions?" Aramis added with a smirk, pulling his left knee to his chest and resting his elbow on it.

The comment was partially intended to lighten up the mood, but d'Artagnan's face fell. "I don't really know how he got injured. I don't think it all happened at once, the stab wound is older," Aramis nodded, signaling he noticed that much. "But there are other things… It's not such a good idea to talk about them now, with him sleeping here. But he went through hell, Aramis. I can't even begin to imagine… The point is, we have to help him."

d'Artagnan looked down at his best friend's sleeping form, once again bringing the cloth to his radiating forehead. Thankfully, the fever didn't seem dangerously high.

"Of course, we will do whatever it takes. You know that," Aramis nudged the Gascon's leg with his right shoe. Seeing that it was impossible to cheer him up, he grew more serious himself, sensing and fearing what it meant. "Just tell me one thing… Sylvie?"

d'Artagnan bit his lip and shook his head.

"The baby?" the minister asked hopefully, but the look on the younger man's face was enough of an answer.

Aramis gulped and shifted himself, bringing his forehead to the hand he was holding. "So unfair… he lost so many people already," he murmured, to which d'Artagnan could only nod, trying not to tear up again at the sight of tears in his friend's eyes.

A few moments passed, after which Aramis jumped to his feet.

"Where are you going?" d'Artagnan asked, confused.

"Well, someone has to excuse us from work for the next few days. France can wait… Mind you, considering that we are in the middle of the war, it's only a figure of speech. But I will have our paperwork brought here and tell everyone to pass all the urgent matters through Constance. Will she be okay with that?" the minister replied, brushing off his clothes.

"I think so, though it would be best to let her know," the captain suggested. "And thank you."

Aramis grinned at him. "I will be back in a few minutes. As soon as I find someone capable of spreading the news through the garrison and the palace."

The younger man chuckled, wondering if it was just his impression or had his friend's head grown bigger.

Before disappearing behind the door, Aramis stuck his head back in and whispered, "And d'Artagnan? Try not to worry too much. I don't know the whole story, but I know he will get through it. We will, together."

_Not too big, then_, the Gascon thought, feeling the warmth of his friend's words melt some of his anxiety.


	2. Together, At Last

The next few days were kind of a haze for the three musketeers. Each day, when Aramis prayed, he asked for Athos to recover, in all senses of the word, for Porthos to safely come home, and for all four of them to stay sane until both of those happened. It seemed like himself and d'Artagnan were trapped in the never-ending cycle of heartbreaking screams from Athos' nightmares, soothing words and gestures, depressing revelations coming either from their friend or the world around them, and responsibilities and expectations that sometimes snatched them away from the one thing they could put their minds and hearts to. Making sure that Athos was well taken care of.

Aramis didn't pressure his older friend into telling him what happened. Whenever the latter was awake and in the mood to talk, he tried to make him forget about what was obviously haunting him most of the time anyway. Three days after Athos returned, when pretending to eat breakfast, he casually told d'Artagnan that Aramis tiptoeing around him was strange and that he should know everything.

The Gascon approached the minister on the garrison's courtyard, sat him down at one of the long wooden tables, and told him as much as he found out so far. Aramis stood up abruptly, then sat down, and stood up again. Consumed by anger and frustrated at their helplessness, he kicked the leg of the table so hard, it broke. If he were anywhere near his regular self, he would apologize and fix it. Instead, he continued booting, until two other planks broke. D'Artagnan didn't say a word.

* * *

Further three days later, Athos slipped. Since coming back, he tried to fight his demons, to at least keep his head above dark waters. But he got tired. He hated going to sleep because of the nightmares, he felt like eating did nothing for his well-being and plenty for upsetting his stomach, he was sure that more than anything, he was a burden to everyone. And so, for a moment, in his mind and heart, he gave up.

In a cruel miracle, his body reacted immediately, the fever raising dangerously and his breathing transforming into shallow wheezing. Before he knew it, he lost all touch with reality, trapped in a gallop through his nightmares. For those who watched, it was hard to find a tangible cause. They could just try to minimize the damage as his body convulsed, his face grimaced in pain, and the blankets got soaked with sweat. All while he murmured the litanies of his grief, remorse and despair.

Sometimes, he would sense his friends, as if from very far away. He would hear them shushing and comforting him, or merely speaking. Or, he would feel their touch, as they gently caressed him, or, other times, firmly pinned him down to stop him from hurting himself. But it was as if he was far beneath the surface, miles from them, and drifting even further each minute.

* * *

After three days and nights of watching his friend fading away, d'Artagnan cracked. When the doctor and Aramis explained there was little either of them could do but wait, even though he seemed to only get worse with time, he yelled at them both.

The minister shot him a sad but understanding look. He too barely left Athos's side in the last few days. At the moment, though, he decided to give d'Artagnan some space and go to collect the herbs that the doctor recommended.

The Gascon sank to the floor next to the bed and grabbed Athos' clammy hand with both of his. He let his head rest on top of them and allowed tears to fall. Was that really it?

Constance found him like that and sat behind him for a moment, leaning against his back. When she got up, she wiped the sick man's face and cupped his cheek. "You may feel like you lost everything, Athos. And no one could blame you. But there are still people who can't live with the thought of losing you."

Both d'Artagnan's silent tears and Constance's words pierced through the abyss that separated Athos from them. But even if he wanted to, the former captain forgot how to fight.

* * *

Half an hour later, when Aramis came back, he heard a desperate whisper, which made him stop in the doorway.

"I can't be here and watch you give up, Athos. I can't. I refuse to believe this is how it ends."

The minister slowly approached his friend and put a hand on his back. "You have to get some rest, d'Artagnan. You don't need to go, as I know you don't want to regardless of what you said. Just close your eyes here for a moment. I will wake you if anything changes."

The captain turned to him, guilt plastered on his face. "I'm sorry, Aramis."

"I know you are. Don't worry about it. Just do as I say," the older man said, rubbing circles on d'Artagnan's back.

As soon as Aramis managed to make his young brother nap, he got back to tending to Athos. He forced a nasty-tasting tincture down the sick man's throat, along with some water.

"I won't tell you whether to live or not, Athos. But d'Artagnan was wrong, as he himself noticed. Even if there is little I can do, I'm not giving up on you. You once told me the same, after Savoy," Aramis declared, still holding the back of his friend's neck and massaging it gently. "Also, when making your decision, please keep in mind that Porthos will have our heads if he comes back to your funeral."

* * *

Soon, Aramis and d'Artagnan swapped places. The former went to sleep on the mattress in the corner of the room, which they put there a few days back. The captain sat on the bed with a bowl of water and a cloth, carefully washing the sweat off his mentor's body. It seemed that Athos didn't have the energy left to trash or mumble anymore. However, he looked far from calm, with small tremors still running through his body, his pupils moving restlessly behind his eyelids, and occasional moans escaping his clenched jaw.

He was almost half-seated to facilitate his breathing, supported by a pile of pillows. The Gascon moved next to him and put one arm around his trembling shoulders, cradling his head with another.

"I wish there were a way to help you sleep peacefully," d'Artagnan started softly. After taking a deep breath, he added, "I was selfish before, Athos. I pray that you will recover, that you still have some will to live. But if all you can do is let go, of course, I will stay by your side as long as I can. Just remember, we love you, brother, no matter what."

Aramis, who, against his own advice, had trouble falling asleep, buried his head deeper in the pillow to muffle the sniffle. He was proud of the man d'Artagnan became. At the same time, he feared what would become of his younger brother, of any of them, if the worst were to happen. And more than anything, he was scared that his friend would die consumed by grief and pain, deprived of all hope.

What he didn't know was that somehow, d'Artagnan's words brought a spark into Athos' darkness. For the first time since his condition worsened, he felt as if something, or someone, was pulling him to the surface; that someone considered him so worthy of saving, they were willing to drown for it themselves. Even when he was weak, broken, and not too interested in being saved. It gave him the strength to try to push to go back toward the living.

Only a few moments passed, though for Athos they felt like an eternity, as in his mind he was fighting against the current. Finally, he stirred against his friend's chest and arms. At first, he was only able to get out another moan, but eventually, he managed to croak, "d.. d'Artagnan?"

The younger man jumped a little. Then, he pulled back slightly, just to be able to look at his mentor's face, still holding the back of his head. "Athos? Are you back with us?" he asked, his eyes hopeful.

After receiving a wordless confirmation, he grinned and brought his friend's head back to his chest. "Thank God. We thought… nevermind, it's good that you are."

D'Artagnan helped Athos settle back on the pillows and put a cup to his lips. "I will give you about three minutes of peace until I wake up Aramis to bug you with the medic stuff."

"What happened?" the patient inquired hoarsely.

"Your fever went up. Really high. You were out for three days," the captain explained. As Athos nodded and closed his eyes, d'Artagnan added, "How are you feeling now?"

Choosing the least concerning of all the thing that bothered him, the older man replied, "C-cold."

"Right. I will go look for some dry blankets," the Gascon started rising from the bed, only to be stopped by a trembling hand on his forearm.

"Wait for a bit, please," Athos' voice betrayed his embarrassment. Still, he couldn't stop himself, feeling like he could lose his anchor with reality and fall into the hellish waters again.

D'Artagnan smiled at him and sat back on the bed. Simultaneously, Aramis decided to finally let them know that he was awake and approached them carrying blankets he was covered with.

"Hey, Athos. I am glad to see you awake," he said warmly, squeezing his friend's hand. Not bothering to explain that he didn't say anything earlier to give them a moment, the minister started taking off the soaked blankets and gradually replaced them with dry ones. "I will bring more."

"I'm sorry. To both of you," Athos whispered suddenly, earning wide-eyed looks from his friends.

"What on earth are you apologizing for?" Aramis asked, subconsciously straightening the sheets.

The former captain took a long, shaky breath and attempted to raise himself even further on the pillows, only to wince as his body refused it and a sharp pain shot through his ribs. D'Artagnan put a hand on his shoulder, wordlessly signaling him to stay down.

"It… it felt… feels good to be around you again, better than I felt in months. And I wanted to get better. B-but one day, I didn't anymore. I… I felt tired, s-so tired of my head, of being a miserable burden and keeping you from your lives," as Athos went on, stuttering slightly, his friends resisted the urge to protest immediately, sensing that he needed to get it out, even if they were sure he would never say it all out loud if not for his fever.

"So I g-gave up. I think… I think that's why I g-got worse. B-but I heard you, some of it, I k-know I made it even hard-der for you. I really d-didn't mean to come and d-drop it all on you. And n-now I c-can't even stay alone in the r-room, fearing I… I'll go b-back there," as soon as he finished, he looked down, feeling ashamed.

D'Artagnan silently observed Athos for a few moments, taking account of his sickly pale, glistening skin, dark bags under his eyes, bruises, small shivers that were running through his body and the occasional sound of chattering teeth. Then, he went back to his position against the head of the bed and once again, with some maneuvering, pulled him closer.

A year or two ago he would be more reluctant to make such gesture, knowing that with his former captain's pride, it could well make the situation worse. But in the last few days, he noticed that not only Athos was, in many regards, farther from being himself than he thought possible, but also that after months in pain and solitude, his mind and body reacted well to such forms of comfort.

"Am I hurting you like this?" the younger man inquired quietly. After seeing his friend shake his head and subconsciously lean into the embrace, he continued, supporting his mentor's curled form with one hand and rubbing his neck with another, "You have nothing to be sorry or embarrassed about, Athos. I am so proud of you, and grateful, that after everything you went through you are still here with us. It is a blessing, not a burden, and there is nowhere we would rather be than here."

"I wouldn't say it better myself. Surprisingly," Aramis joked, putting a hand on Athos' leg. "You are allowed to do whatever you need, we will take care of the rest. Now, I'll be right back, I will go for those blankets."

The sick man's body visibly relaxed after their words of acceptance and support. After he was tucked under a fresh set of covers and informed that _the medic stuff_ could wait that time, both the captain and the minister waited for his breathing pattern to change and tell them he fell asleep. As it didn't, d'Artagnan asked, "Are you in more pain than before? Can we do anything to help you sleep?"

"…'s not that. Just… it was as if I was underwater, not dead but not alive. And those I loved, dead, were floating all around me, with open eyes, blaming me… Sylvie's belly…" Athos murmured in a desperate and tired voice.

"Shhh. You are not to blame, brother. And your fever broke, you won't go back there. You are safe, we are here. We will watch over you and wake you up if we need to," d'Artagnan assured soothingly, moving his hand to the top of his friend's head.

Aramis took a sit on the other side of the bed, as if trying to protect Athos, and grasped his knee.

* * *

When d'Artagnan was sure that his mentor fell asleep, he whispered, "I'd never imagined I'd see him like that."

The younger man kept running his fingers through Athos' hair, hoping to keep the nightmares away.

"It is almost impossible to break Athos. But one thing that can do it is… well, exactly what they did, hurt the people he cares about. On his eyes," the minister commented grimly.

The Gascon sighed. "I wonder if he will ever stop feeling responsible."

"It will be hard. And he probably won't even start forgiving himself until we know who is behind this," Aramis replied, stretching his legs, careful not to brush them against Athos'. "Anyway, all we can do is hold him together for as long as he can't do it himself. And we will."

After a long pause, he added, "You know, I was more or less like that after Savoy. My wounds weren't healing properly. I felt like I didn't deserve to get better. Porthos and Athos were afraid to leave me alone for five minutes. And I was so grateful they were there, holding me when I refused to sleep or woke up screaming, sitting with me, forcing me to eat.

"But I felt like I didn't deserve their friendship either. And I kept falling back into darkness. There were moments, many of them, when it seemed hopeless, for them and for me. But we pulled through. And we will this time, too," Aramis concluded comfortingly.

D'Artagnan freed one of his arms for a moment and stretched it toward the marksman, who squeezed it. "I'm glad you are here, Aramis."

* * *

The following morning, Constance came in with breakfast, some herbs that Aramis asked for, and, seemingly, a breeze of fresh air and normalcy. After leaving everything on the table, she approached the bed and without thinking twice, gave her sick friend a quick but warm hug.

"It's good to see you awake, Athos. You scared us," she said as she pulled away and a few tears dropped from her eyes.

"Don't cry over me, Constance," Athos pleaded. He wanted to make a gesture to comfort her, but after the events of the past three days, his body wasn't very cooperative.

She reflexively tidied her thick hair and put her hands on her hips, her fingers sinking into the green fabric of her dress. "You really were gone for too long, weren't you?"

There was a playful harshness in her voice, and everyone in the room raised their eyebrows.

"Well, if you think that you can tell me what to do," she explained innocently.

It might have been the first time since Athos came back when all of them shared a laugh.

* * *

Only a few hours passed. Constance was busy cleaning the rooms when the door burst open, and the queen marched in, looking annoyed, to put it mildly.

"Hello, Constance," she greeted her old friend, a thought crossing her mind that they didn't see each other nearly enough in the last few months. "Are you here, minister? Taking all your work into the garrison for no apparent reason is hardly appropriate."

Unfortunately, she didn't notice Constance giving her signals to leave the discussion for later. Soon, Aramis showed himself in the door of the guest room.

"I apologize, Your Majesty. However, I have not been neglecting any of my responsibilities," he replied, instantly feeling that it was only almost true, as he was a little unfocused since Athos got worse.

The queen gave him a look that said more than words could, reminding him that not all of his responsibilities in the palace were official. With equally stern eyes, he somehow managed to communicate just as much, telling her that it was him who could never be a father to his son and who suffered every day because of it.

"That is not what I said, Aramis. Now, what is so important that you cannot… that you are hardly ever in the palace these days?" Queen Anne asked, her voice calmer.

He bit his lip, not sure how Athos felt about revealing the truth to her. After all, the older man was clear about preferring as few people as possible to know. "Nothing that you should be concerned about, Your Majesty. There is just something I'm working on with d'Artagnan."

The queen knew him well enough to recognize that he was lying, which made all her anger come back instantly. Of course, the fact that Aramis was not around as much in the last few days wasn't a big deal, since he was still doing his job and coming for important meetings and audiences. Even so, it triggered her frustration at the situation they found themselves in.

"For God's sake, Aramis. I'm the queen, how can it not concern me? And it's not like I've never been here, I can hardly see the reason for the two of you to work in d'Artagnans' guest room," she retorted and took a few steps toward him, forcing him to move aside.

As soon as she was in, she froze at the sight before her, feeling waves of sadness and embarrassment at her childish behavior. She should have figured it out, there weren't many things that could keep Aramis from her and their son. She nodded at d'Artagnan, who jumped to his feet and bowed his head.

Then, she moved her attention to Athos again. Of course, their relationship was always official, but she had a lot of respect and gratitude for the former Musketeer captain. And seeing him like that, she felt a pang in her chest. Not because he was pale and injured, looking at her apologetically for being too weak to get up to greet her properly. Obviously, that also bothered her. But she saw enough wounded Musketeers to know that as long as they were breathing, talking and in no danger of dying, which seemed to be the case here, it was the reason to celebrate. The moment she came in, she knew that the atmosphere in the room was the opposite of joyous. And the haunted look she saw in Athos' eyes only confirmed it.

"I apologize, Your Majesty. It is me who is keeping the minister away from the palace," the former captain explained.

"No, it is me who should apologize. I had no idea that you came back, Athos. But I had no reason to jump to conclusions, I should have assumed it was serious enough," the queen argued.

There was a moment of slightly uncomfortable silence. Finally, the queen gathered most of the fabric of her dress's skirt between her hands and sat down on a chair. She considered inquiring about what happened, but she felt like it would be wrong to pressure them since they would be kind of obliged to answer. "How can I help?"

"Thank you, Your Majesty. I have everything I need," Athos replied, moving his gaze to d'Artagnan and Aramis to express his gratitude.

"Very well, but please let me know if any of you needs anything. And, of course, you can keep spending time here, Aramis," the queen stated. Then, she surprised everyone by taking Athos' hand and saying, "Heal soon, Athos. Remember that you have many friends here."

* * *

Some days went by. Aramis was cautiously optimistic, with Athos feeling a little better as time passed. The nightmares still plagued him, but seemingly less relentlessly, he was eating more, cracking jokes every once in a while, and getting up from bed for a few steps around the room. At the moment, d'Artagnan and Athos were probably having a late breakfast, while the minister just finished a meeting in the palace. He stopped in the gardens for a moment to watch his son playing. To tell the truth, a part of him did miss being around him. However, not only he knew that Athos needed him more, but also it was somewhat relieving to get away from the charade for a bit.

He smiled at the sight of the boy running madly on the grass, watched by two nannies. Suddenly, he saw a group of horses emerging from behind the trees on his left. He squinted his eyes in the bright sun and bolted up from his bench upon recognizing the rider at the front.

Now, he was the one running like crazy, almost tripping several times and utterly oblivious to the fact that his minister clothes definitely weren't made for anything but gracious walking. Soon, the person also noticed him and shouted something, likely a command, to those around him. Then, he kicked his horse's sides and sped toward Aramis.

"Porthos! Oh God, it is really you!" the minister yelled.

As they were finally right in front of each other, the bigger man jumped off his horse and encircled his best friend in a bone-crushing hug. "You have no idea how good it is to see you, Aramis."

In the meantime, someone took care of Porthos's horse. The two friends pulled apart but kept their arms around each other.

"Not that I am not happy about it but how come you are early?" Aramis asked cheerfully, feeling relieved beyond words that Porthos made it home safe.

"The conditions were good. We pushed our limits a little, we all wanted to be here as soon as possible," the dark-skinned man explained, squeezing his friend's shoulders.

"Let's get the official stuff over with, then, so you can rest."

And so, they walked together toward the palace, almost like in the old days.

* * *

Around two hours later, Porthos was free to enjoy the rest of his day, before having to deal with more of the official stuff the next morning. Of course, Aramis was still by his side.

"I will walk you home, unless… well, there is something I need to tell you," the minister said, his smile faltering for the first time since he saw his friend.

"To be honest, I was planning to go see d'Artagnan first. When I get home, it may be hard to go out until tomorrow," the large man admitted with a grin, though he quickly got serious upon seeing his friend's solemn expression. "What is it, Aramis?"

The marksman stopped for a moment and sighed loudly. "There is someone else at d'Artagnans'…"

"You didn't hide the fact that they had a baby, did you?" Porthos asked, jokingly pursing his lips.

Aramis shook his head. "Athos is back."

"You make it sound like it's a bad thing," the dark-skinned man shot him a puzzled look.

"Of course it's not. But there is more to it…" the minister began his story as they started moving again, going to the garrison.

By the time he finished, Porthos was clenching his big fists so hard, his knuckles were white. He didn't say anything, picking up his pace.

* * *

Athos was sleeping, with d'Artagnan sitting at the table and catching up with the paperwork. He had only just got back to the room, after taking care of a few urgent matters in his office. As the door opened, revealing the other two of the Inseparables, the Gascon had to use all of his willpower not to scream with joy, which would probably result in a rather unpleasant waking up for Athos. Porthos quickly gathered his younger brother in his arms, and neither of them let go for a long time.

Then, the general approached the bed, bent down, put one hand on the top of his sleeping friend's head and kissed his forehead.

"How is he?" Aramis asked in a hushed voice, his hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder.

"Alright. I had to go to the office today but Constance was checking on him, she said he's been sleeping a lot. He probably overdid it a little yesterday," d'Artagnan reported, organizing his papers into one pile. "Porthos, did you come here straight from the palace?"

When the large man nodded, the captain excused himself to bring some food and wine. Soon, they were all sitting around the table, eating and drinking in silence, simply enjoying each others' company. Pothos, however, having less time than others to come to terms with what happened to Athos (if that was even possible), couldn't stop grim images from floating in his mind. As he was processing, a realization suddenly hit him, and he almost yelled, restraining himself with a hand on his mouth in the last possible moment.

"What is it?" Aramis asked, concern sipping through his voice.

The general gestured for them to follow him to the other room.

"Well, I told you there are two small groups of traitors. One was easy enough to link to the Spanish, but the other… Remember when, after Rocroi, you sent reinforcements, which were ambushed?" Porthos inquired, pacing around the room. Aramis nodded quickly, encouraging his friend to continue.

"Only four men reached my camp, three I didn't recognize and one I knew from Paris. The familiar one was threatened into cooperating, the rest were the attackers who posed as our soldiers. I didn't get them to talk and I couldn't make any sense of their reasons, surely the Spanish wouldn't send two independent groups to my unit."

"I'm still not following. Why did you almost choke on your food?" d'Artagnan used one of the pauses to interrupt.

"You haven't learned to be more patient when I was gone, have you?" Porthos smirked. "The thing is, today, just before I left the prisoners with my guys upon seeing Aramis, one man from the second group yelled, _say hello to your friend, we are not done yet_. I assumed he meant Aramis and made nothing of it, but now I'm almost sure it was about Athos."

The minister ran a hand through his hair. "You wrote me that one group was spying, the other were assassins. Did they target you specifically?"

"Yes. I didn't think much of it, assuming it was because of my successes on the front, but I guess they had nothing to do with it," the dark-skinned man speculated, playing with the grip of the sword that was in his belt.

"If you are right, that's just insane. I can hardly imagine someone going through that much trouble to get revenge on Grimaud, let alone on Athos," d'Artagnan remarked sadly.

Aramis looked through the window, his hands resting on the windowsill. "Right. Anyway, let's not tell him today so he can enjoy seeing Porthos."

The two other men nodded in agreement.

"But we should get someone to watch Constance and Elodie. Shouldn't be too hard since they both live in or near the garrison," the minister suggested, again earning approval from his friends.

* * *

They continued their discussion for a while, trying to come up with reasonable theories and failing miserably. Soon, they heard a soft groan and a sound of Athos clumsily pulling himself up on the bed. Aramis and d'Artagnan both signaled Porthos to go in first. As he did, he saw his former captain's eyes grow wide and his face breaking into a huge grin.

"Porthos!" Athos exclaimed with more life in his voice than they heard for quite some time.

The large man beamed at him and was by the bed in two steps. First, he touched his forehead to Athos'. Then, he gingerly grabbed the back of his friend's head and brought him closer, putting another hand on his back.

"It's good to see you, Athos. I'm here, whatever you need," he mumbled into the older man's hair.

After they pulled away, Athos nodded to express his gratitude, his eyes clouded with emotion. "Are you alright, Porthos?"

"In one piece," the general replied with a sad smile. Everyone in the room understood the meaning behind those words, knowing that it was impossible to come back from the front feeling truly alright.

"I don't think it was our finest idea to split up," d'Artagnan muttered suddenly. As he realized he said it out loud, his face turned slightly red, "Uhm, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. It was supposed to stay in my mind."

Athos and Aramis chuckled, while Porthos laughed jovially.

"I hear ya," the large man seconded his younger brother. "But what's done is done. Let's try to enjoy what we have now."

"Speaking of which, have I been asleep for days? Not that I'm complaining, but you seem to be early," the former captain observed, taking a cup from d'Artagnan.

"I am early. We were all so eager to come home, we kind of went crazy on the road," Porthos admitted, plopping down on the floor by the bed.

"Again, not that I am not pleased by your company but shouldn't you go be with your family? I have three nannies already," Athos joked, and d'Artagnan almost sighed with relief, as it seemed like his mentor was slowly coming back to himself.

"I am with my family. And I will go to see Elodie and our girl soon, but not yet. As long as you haven't run out of wine."

And so, the four of them shared the first bottle since they parted ways, feeling like things were slowly falling into place.

* * *

_A/N: A huge thank you for reading and for all the reactions to the first chapter!_

_beeblegirl, it will take them some time to figure the mystery behind it but at least they have a lead now. And they are together, which makes it easier to face the threat. Thank you :)_

_Ula, it won't be all dark, I promise. Thanks for reviewing!_

_pallysd'Artagnan, thank you. It seems like they are planning to come back but it won't be easy anymore. _

_Helensg, I'm glad you liked it, thank you!_


End file.
